


Oui mon amour

by gentleau (iwanna_seeyou_undoit)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i can’t believe I wrote this, it’s literally just Pierre being tied up, thats it. That’s the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwanna_seeyou_undoit/pseuds/gentleau
Summary: Based on a dream I had where Pierre gets tied up, because I have a lot of thoughts about Pierre’s wrists and Pierre’s thighs.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/OFC
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Oui mon amour

**Author's Note:**

> All I have to say for myself is I listened to the song Orgasme by BB Brunes while writing this and I don’t speak French but, uh.... idk just take a listen, look up the lyrics, and slowly pass away 
> 
> Thanks to the gc for encouraging this

Pierre is lying on his back, legs splayed out across the bed, one hand wrapped around his dick, the other reaching across the room for her. 

She smiles at him, bares her teeth. Pierre visibly reacts, the strong muscles of his thighs tensing, his eye lashes dipping down to his cheeks. He’s flushed all over, already. 

She takes his hand when she gets close enough, guides it to her waist. He digs his fingers in, just a little, feels the give of her, the warmth. She ducks down to kiss his chin, close enough to his mouth to tease. Her other hand circles his wrist, pulls it away from his dick, threads their fingers together. 

She moves, swings a leg up and over him so she’s straddling his waist. 

Pierre whines, a soft little noise in his throat, almost an after thought. Under her, between her legs, he wriggles. She presses her weight into him, grinding onto the muscle over his belly button. He’ll have a wet spot there. 

She manoeuvres the hand she’s holding above Pierre’s head and waits for him to follow with his free hand. He does and she bends down to kiss at his neck for a bit in reward. 

He’s breathing hard already, the movement of his diaphragm jostling her, sending little thrills of pleasure zipping into her stomach. She lets him move for a while, adjusts her head so he can get at her neck, too. When she can feel his dick leaking against her ass, she sits up again. 

“Stay there.” She has to take most of her weight off him to reach the bedside table where they’d stowed the tie he’d worn at a team event a few nights ago. “Okay,” she says, returning. “Good.”

They’ve practiced this, Pierre sitting on the couch with his hands in his lap, or at the dining table hands in the air. She ties the knots quickly, efficiently, gently. 

The dark blue silk of the tie is striking against the light tan of Pierre’s wrists. She’s tied him so his wrists are overlapping, a cross formation. If he wanted to, he could hold his own arm with one hand. But he can’t pull them apart. 

“You look so good,” she breathes. This time, Pierre’s whine is intentional. 

She kisses his cheek. 

“I want you to keep your hands there for me. Don’t move them.” 

He responds by clenching his fingers into fists and straining his arms higher above his head, moving his hands further up the bed - look at me, look how far I can keep them here, look how good I’m being.

She can tell, from the rate of his breathing, from the gentle undulation of his hips under her, that he’s painfully turned on. 

Past experience has taught them that Pierre can come from just the whisper friction of the small of her back. 

It’s the perfect time to enact phase two. 

She shifts her weight again, moving backwards slightly to kiss and nip at Pierre’s belly. She nuzzles the soft skin there, right where she knows he’s ticklish, and sucks a dark red mark. His thighs tense around her and she swears she can feel the pulse of his dick resting against her chest. 

She shifts again, this time sucking kisses into the tender skin of his thighs where his leg hair thins out before rejoining his pubic hair. 

He’s soft, here. Soft and pale. It’s untouched skin, the secret parts of Pierre. She bites the hinge of hip and groin and he writhes under her mouth. She smiles. Kisses it better. Moves again. 

This time when she moves, it’s up the bed. 

She keeps her position, Pierre cradled in the V of her legs. But this time she doesn’t stop at his waist. She keeps going, stopping only when she reaches his chest. She slots her knees into the empty space next to his nipples, rosy pink and rock solid, her knees close to the spray of hair under his armpits. 

“Please,” he says, the first words since they’ve started this. He’s allowed to make noise, he’s just been too caught up in the sensation of it to speak before now. “I want- Please.” 

His hands are kneading at the air, the muscles of his arms tensed in a way that screams his desire to touch. But he doesn’t. 

Phase three involves a little more... action on her part. 

She telegraphs her movements so Pierre knows exactly what’s going on (not that he would miss a thing, the way his eyes have locked onto her, desperate and hungry). He looks wild, cheeks flushed, hair a dishevelled mess from where he’s tossed it against the pillows. 

She slips two fingers between her legs, presses them against her clit, just where she likes it. Pierre gasps then looks shocked at himself, like he’s annoyed at himself for breaking the slow building tension in the room. 

He starts wiggling underneath her again, mouth bitten red from his own teeth and she gives in to him. 

“Open up.”

Pierre’s mouth drops open instantly. She slips her fingers onto his tongue, gasping at the sight of him relishing the taste of her. She strokes her fingers over his tongue, keeping his mouth open and panting for a while, just long enough for his mouth to start drying out. 

When she gives him permission, he closes his eyes along with his mouth, looking utterly blissed out. His teeth scrape at her knuckles and she grins, feral and tender. Pierre’s mouth is wet and hot and he keeps up a steady suction. 

She waits for Pierre to open his eyes and when he does it nearly knocks the breath out of her. 

His pupils are blown wide, the blue of his eyes all but invisible. His eyelashes are wet and he’s blinking up at her with a rapidity that matches the pulse she can see beating a tattoo in his throat. 

While he’s looking up at her, a drowning man sucking in that first lungful of air, she reaches back between her legs with her other hand. Pierre’s eyes widen, if that’s possible, then fall closed again. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, muffled by her fingers. 

They’ve been doing this together for so long that Pierre knows her rhythm by now, knows by the change in her breath and the tension in her thighs when she’s about to come. He doubles down on his efforts, applying more pressure on her fingers with his tongue, gathering more saliva, sucking with renewed enthusiasm. 

She comes quietly, biting at her own lip and curling her fingers around Pierre’s tongue. Once she’s caught her breath, she pulls her hand away from Pierre’s mouth and slides down his body. 

His dick is dripping. It looks almost painful and she’d feel bad if it wasn’t for the blissed out expression on Pierre’s face. She wastes no time sucking him down, swirling her tongue around the head of him and touching her fingers, still sopping wet from his mouth, to the stretch of skin just behind his balls. 

Pierre comes with a cry. His thighs move up to cradle her ears and he spills down her throat, his hips jerking forward once but quickly falling back to the bed. 

She keeps him in her mouth until he’s wincing away from her, then presses a wet kiss to his thigh. She kisses up his body, sticky with sweat and a delightful shade of flushed pink, until she reaches his face, damp with tears and saliva. She avoids kissing him for now, pulls back to free his hands. 

It’s a testament to how fucked out he is that he doesn’t immediately move to touch her, just lets his hands fall in a loose pile between his head and the headboard. It isn’t until she takes his bottom lip between hers to give him a long, drawn out, ‘thanks for the excellent sex’ kiss that he moves, bringing his hands up to cup the back of her neck. 

For what they’ve just done, the kiss is surprisingly chaste. Pierre sucks the taste of himself off her tongue and then they settle down, passing off tired, close mouthed kisses.

Eventually, when she feels the lure of sleep drawing dangerously close, she stands up. “Be right back.” She pees, runs a wash cloth under the tap until it’s just this side of too warm, just the way Pierre likes it, and returns to run the damp cloth over his abs, between his thighs. 

Clean up completed, she lies down next to him, head in the crook of his outstretched arm and his armpit. She kisses his chest right next to his nipple and he giggles, ticklish and squirming away from her.


End file.
